


Stabilize Me

by sharkvee



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-02
Updated: 2013-07-24
Packaged: 2017-12-16 21:01:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/866562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sharkvee/pseuds/sharkvee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alana knows something is wrong with Will, and can't stand by to watch Jack and Hannibal destroy him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Dr. Alana Bloom stood in the entryway of Will Graham's lecture hall, careful to hover in the shadow as to not disturb his practice. It must have been practice, because his words were echoing across an empty room, chairs beckoning for someone to listen. Alana was there, of course, but she wasn't intending to interrupt. He stopped, suddenly, a wispy curl of charred chestnut hair falling in his face. Will brought his hand to his face and leaned into it, as if it offered relief. He almost looked to be shuddering, but only barely, concealing it to the magnitude of a tuning fork. The ringing was still there, an instability he could not mask; the reason she had come to talk to him.

She wanted to offer that hand he could lean into, she wanted to be there to support him, she wanted to hold him and take him away from his work. He kept going back to it and crashing deeper into ruin, and part of her, half of her, even, knew she couldn't pull him out of it. One thing she did know was that she really wanted to stay at his house that night. That she could not deny. Practically speaking, it was probably best she did not. But she could almost taste the need on his lips, and it was a need she couldn't ignore.  
Sadly, Alana was a professional. Her duties often surpass her instincts.  
With that, she put her toe forward, offering a click to the silence. Will looked up, shocked and a little disoriented. The screen he had been talking about was not illuminated. The chairs were vacant. The lights were off. He blinked twice and looked straight at Alana.

"You're very eloquent, Will. It's truly a shame nobody was here to hear you."  
"I.. thank you. I just figured I'd go over some things before they do. It was jus- what are you doing here? It's nice to see you."  
"Last night.." Alana walked up to Will, watching him shift backwards, almost bracing for his anticipated disappointment.  
"I know, I'm… not good for you." He looked down, avoiding her eyes, and Alana stepped closer in response, her hand lightly brushing his chest.  
"Maybe not. This work isn't either, but it still brings you consistency, doesn't it?"  
"It's anything but consistent. It's a sadistic cacophony of red herrings and nightmares. But it's something I'm good at." Will inhaled deeply and adjusted his glasses. "When you have a mind that spends its waking consciousness being other minds, putting it to some use gives you some sort of…identity." He swallowed.  
"Is that anything like stability?" Alana asked him, with a tint of hope, but largely laced with low expectation.  
"It can be if it means you'll stay." He placed his hand over hers on his chest, but hers slipped out from under his fingers.  
"You can't try to deceive yourself and feign stability at the same time. I want to stay, Will, but I can only see me making you worse."  
"Alana, you'd only help, please-"  
"My psychiatric interest would blanket that of my romantic interest. I want to come back when that's reversed." She leaned forward, tilted her chin up, and placed a kiss on Will Graham's cheek. His eyes watered and he pulled her in close, breathing in the clean lavender aroma of her hair.  
"Okay," he whispered into her ear, and then tucked his head into her shoulder, allowing one tear to fall.

Alana took a deep breath, unintentionally collecting an unusual warmth from him, reluctantly pulling back from Will and, as she looked up, eyes flickering from his lips to his eyes, she delicately placed the back of her hand on his forehead. He almost unnoticeably flinched at the coldness of her skin on his burning flesh. Her gaze grew more concerned yet, and as to not rouse suspicion, she slowly flipped her hand back around and ran it down his cheek. He swallowed, trying to look away, sadness further overcoming him. Alana knew she should stop as she saw his pained body language. After a moment of silence, she turned and walked out, heels clicking just as startlingly loud as they had when she entered.

xx

Something was not right. It was not as if she had not noticed until now, but the air he gave off was significantly marred, fading in robustness, like a veil had been removed and the vital organs of Will's thoughts exposed themselves to every slash the world constantly offered them. For some reason, this unearthed a new realization: that Dr. Lecter should have noticed Will's distance, his discomfort, his… sickness. Be that of the mind or the body. Dr. Lecter should have done something about it, or at least alerted Jack, because if anybody cared about his well-being, it would be Hannibal, right?

What if she was wrong? What if Jack and Hannibal were pushing him equally as hard? Alana knew he was not strong enough to be thrown out there, and she knew certainly now that he had broken. Not only could she see it; she could feel it. Jack, maybe not Hannibal, at least she so dearly hoped not, treated Will like a precious piece of china, wrapping it in tin foil and arguing that a layer of strength would protect him, and turning a blind eye when he shattered. It made her sick.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alana doesn't think Will is safe or happy alone, and she's right.

Shadows seeped over the sky as the horizon beckoned to the sun, day turning to night as Alana Bloom drove home. She had stayed a bit later than normal, frantically searching the Internet and her various books for help with what could possibly be afflicting Will Graham. He was sleep-deprived, no doubt, but that alone does not cause hallucinations of a full lecture hall and a blazing fever that he had somehow continued to hide until their previous encounter.  
Her fingers drummed the steering wheel, eyes boring down the road. They were stinging at the thought of Will being too scared to sleep, especially considering the horrific nature of a full empath observing and reenacting gruesome and disturbing murders. His reality was terrifying enough, and for him to be left alone at night left marooned and vulnerable, fully at the mercy of his injured mind and creativity made Alana feel responsible for providing at least the illusion of a safety net.  
Glancing quickly at her mirrors to check for people behind her, she wrenched the wheel clockwise and U-turned. Will’s house was in the opposite direction. It was late, but he almost certainly wasn’t sleeping, nor would he be opposed to her visit. Wheels crunching over the gravel approaching the wooded area his house was in, Alana’s mind was suddenly arrested with guilt. She was supposed to be helping Abigail Hobbs, remolding her concept of normality, finding her a role model that did not want to kill her and eat her, to… “honor" her, as her father had taught. She hoped Hannibal could provide that, as cool, stoic, and insightful as he was. Abigail had seemed to gravitate to that, which was minorly comforting, as she needed a father figure that was not a cannibalistic psychopath. Abigail was still Alana’s responsibility, Slowing to a halt, two or three dogs’ heads perked up, headlight beams illuminating swirling particles of dust thrown up by the car.  
A sudden symphony of barks surrounded her as she tried to somewhat quietly shut her door, to not wake the rest of them. Will would probably come out to check what was going on, which would make her entrance maybe slightly less alarming. Alana waded her way through eagerly jumping dogs, ruffling floppy ears around on the way, kneeling down to scratch Winston along the jaw. Will had been paying extra attention to his latest family member, so Alana figured she might as well too. His golden fur was mottled with brown that almost looked like mud, but she knew he was lovingly washed. Of course it wasn’t mud. Winston shook his head, fluffing out his fur and hopped up, claws clacking against the wooden porch as the front door creaked open.  
Will apprehensively peeked through a slit in the door, tension dissolving as he discovered it was her.  
"A…Alana?" He was in no less distress than the last time she saw him, head reeling, hair having undoubtedly been rustled by tear-soaked hands in the past hour. She turned around, the jovial smile that Winston had caused on her face to rapidly melt away upon seeing his droopy eyes, reminding her of the reason she was here.  
“Will,” Alana sighed concernedly as she stood, “I couldn’t let you be alone tonight. Not after today.” His mouth opened, jaw circling forward and sideways a bit before closing again, before he nervously chuckled, asking,  
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Alana paused for a moment before responding,  
“No, but it’s better than you digging yourself into a deeper grave while you sleep.”  
“How do yo-“  
“Hannibal tells us some things relevant to your mental health that could affect your performance. And by us I mean Jack, but I seem to be the only one concerned enough about you to ask. Or drop by.” She offered a half-forced smile.  
“I, uh. Come in.” Will opened the door the rest of the way, letting her in before following behind her. He eyed her curiously, wondering how much she did know. More than himself? If Hannibal had talked to Jack and indirectly Alana, then she must also now know that he was… mentally ill. Insane… “You’re a psychiatrist, Alana. Am I insane?” Will choked on the words like poison, waiting for the answer to bite him back.  
“That’s not why I’m here, Will.” That wasn’t a very definitive “no”, he thought. “Even if you were, which I… don’t think you are, crazy doesn’t make burning fevers, in the literal sense.” But Hannibal had taken him to the hospital. There was nothing wrong.  
“It has to.”  
“What do you mean?”  
“Hannibal took me to the hospital, he was concerned, he wanted me in the best condition to ruin my own condition.” He huffed and shook his head. “They didn’t find anything. Perfectly normal brain scan.”  
“You’re anything but perfectly normal, Will.” That was the last thing he needed to hear. “Who did he take you to?”  
“His name was Dr. Sutcliffe. He was a very experienced neurologist… there’s nothing else to talk about, Alana... I… think you should leave.” He choked, speaking what he knew was rational but not what he wanted.  
“Sutcliffe? Wasn’t he found dead?”  
“That was Georgia Madchen, she was trying to see his face, trying to chase away her madness, rip into it, unmask it. I can understand.”  
“I’m glad you said that off-record.” Alana swallowed. Georgia was such a nice girl, she thought. She hoped Will wasn’t capable of the same monstrosity. 

Will coughed, a knot forming in his throat as he tasted Alana’s doubt. She was the only hope he had and he was shoving that farther away from him, feeding her distrust. Shudders raked his body, a sudden sob escaping his mouth. She quickly grabbed his left arm before she felt him slump completely over.

“Will!” Alana screamed, running to the phone, fingers fumbling clammily over 911. Tears were streaming down her face in panic. Madness doesn’t cause fever. Mental illness doesn’t cause unconsciousness.

Hannibal had lied.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will's collapse paves the pathway for an organized collapse of Hannibal's sick puppet show.

Will Graham’s lack of movement provided such a stark contrast to his usual feverish passion, and yet in such a stalled position he continued to emit an exhausted and depleted aura that sickened Alana Bloom to look at. Her ears pined for the sirens; her eyes strained for flashing lights. The irony hit her that the only thing to bring her peace would be something to take Will away, when all she wanted to do was hold him close. Practically, she would be able to once they did take him, and that’s what she was. Practical.

 

Claws scraped at the wooden door from outside, startling Alana from her thoughts and struggling to stand. A low whine seeped through the door; a nose pressed to the crack in the door, sniffing for any reassurance that his master was well. Careful to keep her eyes locked on Will, Alana leaned and reached for the handle. With a flick of her wrist, six dogs scrambled inside, tails swinging slowly and drooping to discover Graham on the floor. After assuring the storm of running canines had quieted, and softly latching the door shut, Alana returned to his side, sitting with her legs folded to her side, right hand bracing her shuddering body and left hand placed on Will’s own.

  
Winston settled by Will’s matted head of hair and licked his nose, hoping to elicit a response, or at least to show concern. A knot formed in Alana’s throat, eyes stinging with sadness and then, as if a switch had flipped, the sting turned to an angry fire of realization. _Hannibal told me he was fine. I trusted Hannibal._ Will _trusted Hannibal. He’s fragile and not even the person assigned to pick up his pieces will keep the remaining ones together. How dare he… how…_

  
Tears streamed down her face in a silent sob, mouth gaped but no sound escaping. Alana was so purely shocked and betrayed that no scream could wrack her lungs. No blubbering hysterics could save Will. There was something medically wrong with him, and if Dr. Lecter wasn’t going to take him away to fix it, she sure as hell was.

Following Winston’s lead, the remaining dogs settled down, whimpering, around Will Graham. They formed a circle, not only protecting him, but offering company to Alana, who was struggling to stay strong. In this she suddenly understood his desire to take in strays.

At length her aural dream faded into reality, sirens reeling around the corner, making far more noise than her hybrid as it spewed gravel around its wheels, creating slight chaos in the eerie silence. Alana felt a sickening mixture of relief and worry darken her emotions, but her professionalism at last took control and she left the ring of dogs, ran to the door to provide passage to the paramedics, and stepped aside, just behind the arch of the door. A hand covered her mouth, attempting to breathe deeply in a swarm of panic and yet appear stoic. The dogs whimpering expressed her inner tumult, almost to the point where it could substitute it, offering a channel for her distress.

  
Officers and flashing lights of all sorts streamed through the front door, flushing the dogs, Alana, and her countenance out of the way. Seeing Will loaded onto a stretcher, the dogs barking loudly around her, and the cacophony of sound, shouting, sirens, everything that invaded her ears broke her false composure and she fell into anxious and angry sobs. Will’s head rolled to the side, curls falling over like dead leaves at the eve of winter. This job had aged him faster than she could ever have imagined; him being put out there had destroyed his mind and body. But there was more to it. Hannibal knew there was more to it, but he lied. He lied to Will, he lied to Alana, he lied to the entire FBI. Will Graham was not okay.

xx

 

She had fallen asleep waiting outside the door for him to come to, and once they allowed her into the room, the sound provided a disquieting contrast to the earlier sirens. This time they were soft, fleeting, and slow. Small beeps and whirs as the IV adjusted and the various monitors beeped. Raspy, shallow breaths seeped through Will’s mouth, but it was comforting to see him moving around. The doctor pulled Alana aside, nurse still tending to Will.  
  
“Is this the first time this has happened?” she looked suspicious, as if Alana wouldn’t have brought him in before.  
“Of course it i- actually…” A sickening thought came into her head. _What if it wasn’t? What if Will had dropped unconscious at one of his sessions with Dr. Lecter and he just… left him there?_ “We may be dealing with a form of… malpractice here.” The doctor looked taken aback, and Alana was quick to correct her language: “Not here. There. Before. His psychiatrist, Dr. Hannibal Lecter, had taken him to Dr. Sutcliffe three weeks ago, as he had shown signs of fever and was losing time, but Dr. Lecter told the FBI that there was physically nothing wrong with him. I don’t think that’s possible considering he collapsed in front of me.”  
“Ma’am, we took the patient in for an MRI and discovered that he is suffering from advanced anti-NMDA receptor encephalitis.”  
“I… is he… can it still be treated?” Alana’s voice trembled.  
“Most respond to first-line immunotherapy, second-line if this should fail. If it does, it could take up to 18 months.” 

It is highly unlikely, probably impossible, that this is the first time he has lost consciousness. You indicated he had previously lost time?”

 “Yes.” Alana swallowed, recovering her typical calm mien.  
“Unfortunately, I believe you’re right about Dr. Lecter. I would believe it was impossible for an MRI to find no trace of this only a few weeks ago.”  
“Unfortunately I’m usually right.” A bitter smirk crawled across her face until she found the strength to wipe it away. “Is he awake? Can I…?” The doctor nodded and said,  
“Of course.” She left the room, leaving only Alana, Will, and the several monitors.   
“Will? It’s Alana.” Speaking softly, she placed a hand over his, careful not to cross paths with the IV tube. Her hand curled behind her ear, tucking the hair behind it. He blinked twice, carefully turning his head.  
“Alana… the fever…” Alana smiled and nodded.  
“They gave you NSAIDs, among other things. It should be helping.”  
“But I shouldn’t be here, I don’t deserve to be nursed, I should be in a psychiatric wa-“  
“No, Will.” A hint of anger bit her tongue. Will sharply inhaled and looked confused. “Hannibal lied to you. You’re not mentally ill.”  
“I-?”  
“Encephalitis.” His eyes flickered rapidly, tracing the betrayal that had wrecked Alana’s mind previously.  
“He… how… but then…”  
“Shhh…” Alana leaned forward, placing her nose a half-inch above his. The last painful conversation she remembered surfaced in her mind, her leaving him at home, completely alone, for his instability. Her professionalism wanted him mentally well before she could involve herself with him.  Her own words floated into her mind: “ _My psychiatric interest would blanket that of my romantic interest. I want to come back when that’s reversed”.  
  
_ Alana lowered her chin to his, lips locking calmly and motionless. When she raised her head once more, she moved her mouth to his ear, and whispered: __  
  
“I’ll make you stable.”

 


End file.
